


Safe and Sound

by cosmicconundrum



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American Revolution, Angst, Fluff, Kinda, Lullabies, M/M, So much angst, Songfic, Storms, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 04:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicconundrum/pseuds/cosmicconundrum
Summary: America is an independent nation now, but for some reason he can't forget the way England used to sing to him during thunderstorms.





	Safe and Sound

**Author's Note:**

> this is a songfic. the song this is using is Taylor Swift's [Safe and Sound](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_FkM0S-PgY), which, for some reason, works really well for a lullaby and also sounds mysteriously a lot like something england would sing to little america...

Loud thunder shook a quiet colony-no-more from the depths of something that could only be described as semi-conscious bliss. America gasped and sat upright in his bed, looking around frantically for the source of the loud crash that he had heard only moments before.

Outside, it was raining. The sky was darker than it normally was, void of the calming glow from those stars he loved to watch. Instead, it was blanketed by a thick layer of rolling, angry clouds that only spat out dark tears of rain, which hit his window and slid down it in rivers and streams.

The pattering of the rain was enough to provide some background noise to the occasional loud crash of thunder following a blindingly white flash of lightning. Still, when the flash came, illuminating dark shadows cast by the curtains, bed, and furniture, America yelped. He turned around, grabbed the edge of his covers, and curled up in a ball underneath them. He continued to shake even as another crash sounded, although at least his quilt could block out the flash of light.

America hated thunder. He hated the way it screamed and rumbled and boomed and threatened him and made the storm seem all the more sinister. Yet he had no one to turn to, no one but the rapidly escaping heat from his own bed.

He curled up even harder, shaking and whimpering from the storm.

If any other the other nations were to see him now, shivering in fear from a mere thunderstorm, they would laugh. He had just proclaimed his independence, after all. If he wasn’t mature enough to brave a storm, then he definitely was not mature enough to survive as an independent nation. He wasn’t sure why he was acting so childish. It wasn’t as if grown men ever shook at a little thunder, and yet here he was. The words from his former guardian began to rise up from the murk of his subconscious and he tried as hard as he could to push them away. He couldn’t think about them. Not now.

More thunder boomed in the distance, and America found himself contemplating a recent turn of events that he had tried so hard to bury in his mind, so that the sorrow and the regret couldn’t overcome and completely consume him.

And yet the images surfaced anyway.

 

* * *

 

_I remember tears streaming down your face_

_When I said, "I'll never let you go."_

_When all those shadows almost killed your light_

_I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone,"_

_But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight_

 

* * *

 

“Don’t do this, America,” England begged, his voice low with an emotion America had never heard or even seen him express before, as he stood only feet away in the muddy field.

America looked away. He couldn’t bear to make eye contact with this older nation, this caretaker, brother, guardian of his that had given everything up to take care of him, when America had responded by throwing all of that love off like it had been nothing.

But he couldn’t stop the fire of revolution that burned within his heart, nor the words that came out of his mouth.

“I’m no longer your little brother,” America snarled. “From now on, consider me independent!”

Just then, lightning flashed, and England’s shadow was briefly lit up in the soaking mud, a warped image of his former strong figure.

The look in England’s eyes matched the dreary weather of the situation, America noted, with a hint of bitter irony that sought to make his eyes water.

 

* * *

 

The thunder and lightning kept coming back, sometimes so loud they made America jump, and other times so quiet they only added to the depressing background pattering.

He still lay there in his bed, beneath the white sheets made dark with shadows, trying to gather up whatever warmth and courage was left in his heart, to brave out the storm, to at least get some decent amount of rest.

He knew why he had this fear of storms, though. He knew.

He just didn’t want to think about it.

Again, the thoughts could not be held back. They came to him in flurries, like the rain and the wind and the lightning and the thunder.

A golden light, radiating and warm and comforting.

A hand reached out to him.

Faint words from a smooth voice, echoing around in his memory.

“Let’s go home, America.”

 

* * *

 

_Just close your eyes_

_The sun is going down_

_You'll be alright_

_No one can hurt you now_

_Come morning light_

_You and I'll be safe and sound_

 

* * *

 

Ironic as it was, America was now longing for the care and company of his caretaker when it was America who had cast him off, leaving him alone in a field of rain and thunder with the shattered remnants of his heart.

If anything, America deserved to suffer now.

He still couldn’t stop himself from thinking, though. All his old memories resurfaced, of warmer, golden days, of days spent in the sun, smiling, laughing. He felt so poetic now, if only to describe his life in his old colonial days; because America was no longer a colony, no longer under the control of England, and lacking his company all the same.

Had it been worth it, he wondered. Had it been worth it to trade friendship for freedom?

The more he thought about it, the less sure he was that he had made the right decision.

The crashing thunder only served to mock him for his dilemma.

 

* * *

 

_Don't you dare look out your window._

_Darling, everything's on fire_

_The war outside our door keeps raging on_

_Hold onto this lullaby_

_Even when the music's gone_

_Gone_

 

* * *

 

“Sing me a song!” America yelled.

England looked down at his darling little colony and smiled, his eyes squeezing shut with mirth.

“Of course, dear.”

And so America lay down in his bed, his eyes closed, happily listening and soaking in that beautiful melody of England’s.

It was a song he didn’t sing very often, with a strange melody and even stranger words he had never bothered to listen to or interpret, young boy that he was.

He never asked England where the song was from, either. America didn’t think he’ll ever find out. Perhaps one day England would tell him.

Although the room was dark with the shadows of the night, the single candle by the bed was enough to illuminate both his and England’s faces, and besides, America thought, England’s mere presence was enough.

He didn’t know he had fallen asleep even after the warmth lulled him into a peaceful slumber.

 

* * *

 

It was even more ironic that it was the middle of the night, and it was raining outside, and morning light was very, very far away.

Just brave out the storm, America told himself.

The room was silent except for the distant sounds of rain falling and hitting the window and the cold night beyond.

The door creaked. A sudden noise that startled America from his hiding underneath the sheets.

“Who is it?” He demanded, his voice cracking.

America couldn’t quite explain what happened next. It was like he was enveloped in a warmness that he hadn’t felt in quite some time. A familiar presence stood at his side, running his fingers through America’s hair, calming him with soothing words and a sweet melody.

America’s emotionally torn mind could only accept the warmth England provided.

The lightning and thunder seemed to stop. The rain faded away until it was almost silent. The storm and the dark and cold of the night were far away from America, now, blocked from him by a wall of someone he hadn’t wanted to rely on in quite some time.

He found himself relaxing.

“Go to sleep, America.”

He obliged before he even knew it.

 

* * *

 

_Just close your eyes_

_The sun is going down_

_You'll be alright_

_No one can hurt you now_

_Come morning light_

_You and I'll be safe and sound_

 

* * *

 

America shot out of bed for the second time that night… or not, apparently.

He turned his head to see faint rays of daylight streaming in from behind many tree branches, through his still-dripping window, and into the room that was otherwise a dark and dim purple.

The warmth left him when his covers pooled from around his shoulders, and he shivered again, wrapping his hands around his bare arms.

The sun was rising, and its presence was heralded with brilliant purple clouds and an orange sky.

But where was _he?_

The door was firmly closed. No one had entered it.

Everything in the room was in its place. There was no sign that anything besides a mere hallucination had disturbed the night.

That’s when America realized that the perfect morning was missing one key element. The warmth he had felt yesterday night had been but an illusion.

Although the storm was over, America hadn’t recovered.

He put his head in his hands and cried.

 

* * *

 

_Just close your eyes_

_You'll be alright_

_Come morning light,_

_You and I'll be safe and sound..._

 

**Author's Note:**

> yeah anyways i'm just publishing stuff i've already finished writing now because about two months ago i decided i just wasn't getting enough appreciation for all the time and work i put into my pieces. so i'm not writing any more hetalia fics.
> 
> by the way i'm still thirsty for validation so please comment, please,,
> 
> check out [my tumblr!](http://cosmicconundrum.tumblr.com)
> 
> [](http://cosmicconundrum.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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